


Tell Us A Story, Father

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:45:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was written for the tumblr prompt: "Ned bein' all cute with his babies :D" and I'm afraid it got a bit long to simply be a chapter in my "Tales" collection, so I decided to post it as an individual story.</p><p>Ned Stark finds himself in charge of his children one morning without his wife's assistance. As he is trying desperately to sort out all their requests and squabbles, they beg him to tell them a story--a true one--and so he tells them of a duel fought by a brave lord for the hand of a beautiful maiden . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Us A Story, Father

The maester had assured him that Catelyn was fine, and Ned attempted to push the unease from his mind as he carried a loudly protesting Bran away from his mother’s rooms. Cat herself had laughed at his worried expression and promised him it was only a mother’s stomach that caused her to lose everything she had attempted to eat in three days.

He smiled as he thought of the warm glow in her face, even with its pallor, as she’d laid one hand upon her still flat belly and reached up to touch his hand with her other while Bran had thumped at his chest with his little fists attempting to get back down onto the bed with her. She was elated about this pregnancy as it had been more than three years since Bran’s birth, and Ned knew she had been dismayed by her thirtieth name day, fearful that mayhap she would not bear him anymore children.

 _As if I required more babes,_ he’d thought, looking down at the face that he loved. He adored all his children and would welcome this new babe and any others the two of them might have, but Catelyn had already presented him with as many children as his mother had given his father, and he was well content with her and the babes they had already. In fact, thoughts of his mother and her death made him fearful about the prospect of his wife going to the childbed again.

“Ned,” she’d said knowingly, as if she could read his mind, “I am fine, and I shall remain fine, but as Maester Luwin insists I stay abed until my belly settles, I’m afraid you’ll have to manage without me today. I’m certain Septa Mordane or Old Nan will take Bran for you if you are needed elsewhere.”

“No!!” Bran had shouted. “I want Mother!”

“I’m sorry, sweetling, but I truly am too tired to play.”

Her admission had caused Ned to realize the extent of his wife’s exhaustion even more than her pale face. She had insisted upon persisting in her normal duties in spite of keeping down no significant nourishment for far too long. Cat never admitted to weakness of any kind. Luwin had actually ordered her to bed this morning after she’d vomited her breakfast and fallen into Ned’s arms in the courtyard. Even then she’d tried to argue, but Ned was having none of it. He had taken her directly to her chambers, and here she would remain. But the loud three year old demanding her attention had to be removed.

“I will see to our son, my lady,” he had assured her gravely. “Your mother must sleep,” he had then said firmly to the struggling child. “You and I will go for a walk.”

His son had screamed for Catelyn all the way out of her rooms and all down the corridor, and Ned honestly began to wonder what he would do with the child. Bran was generally a happy boy, the most easy-going of all their babes, but he had not reacted well to his mother being less than her usual energetic self.

As he headed in the direction of the nursery, he heard a childish feminine voice shout, “Give it back!” even more loudly than Bran’s wails, and suddenly a quickly moving creature he had barely enough time to recognize as his younger daughter barreled out of the nursery door and crashed directly into him.

“Arya!” he said severely. “Why are you running?”

Before the five year old girl could respond, the angry shouting came again. “I said give it back! Right now!”

Ned looked up from the dark head at his belly to see his older daughter emerging from the nursery, her face nearly as red as her hair and wearing an expression that reminded him forcefully of Catelyn at her very angriest. He had to struggle not to laugh. 

“What is the meaning of this, my ladies?” he asked in what his wife would refer to as his lord’s voice.

Both girls went very still and silent, and even Bran stopped his incessant yelling for his mother. Ned set the boy down in front of him next to Arya. “I asked you a question,” he said, looking toward Sansa as she was the oldest child present, and experience had taught him she was also the most likely to respond truthfully upon first request.

“Arya took my doll, Father, and she will not give it back to me.”

He looked down at Arya once more whose face remained steadfastly fixed on the floor and noted that indeed she had something clutched to her chest with one arm.

“Arya?” he asked.

Slowly, she raised her face to look up at him. She looked guilty, but still rather defiant. “She wouldn’t share,” she mumbled.

“Did you ask to see your sister’s doll?” Ned asked her. In truth, Arya rarely seemed interested in dolls. She rarely played with her own, and he rather suspected she would have no interest in Sansa’s other than to irritate her sister.

“No, she didn’t!” Sansa said angrily before Arya answered him. “She was trying to hide it in her dress!”

“I was not, stupid!” Arya shouted, rounding on her sister.

Ned grabbed Arya’s shoulders before she could actually go after her sister. She’d been known to tackle her siblings when angry enough.

“I saw you, Arya! And when I asked what you were doing you ran away with my doll. Give it back.”

Arya raised the arm that held the doll, and Ned grabbed it as he realized she was about to throw it which would undoubtedly make Sansa even angrier. Gods! How does Catelyn deal with this on a daily basis?

“Give it to me, Arya,” he said quietly, and she released the doll into his hand.

He didn’t see anything particularly special about it. It was a very small doll, actually, apparently designed to look like an actual infant rather than the girls’ fancier dolls dressed as princesses and fine ladies. He reached out to hand it to Sansa.

“Thank you, Father,” she said very courteously as she came forward to take it from him. Then she turned and made a face at Arya, and Arya grabbed at her.

“Stop it this instant, both of you,” Ned said, his head starting to hurt. “Where are the boys?” he asked.

“Playing knights and dragons. They won’t let me play,” Arya said with a pout.

“I want to play knights and dragons!” Bran called out then, and while Ned was pleased to hear the child express a desire for anything other than Catelyn, he doubted Robb and Jon would welcome their little brother into their game any more than their little sister.

“Why don’t we find Old Nan, and see if she’ll tell you a story,” Ned suggested.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Sansa volunteered. “She said she knew something that would make Mother’s stomach better, and she went to tell the cook how to fix it.”

Ned imagined that if anyone knew a remedy for his wife’s troubles, it was likely Nan. Maester Luwin was a learned man, but the old woman had lived longer than anyone Ned knew and had certainly seen more women go through childbearing than anyone else in the castle. “Then we had best leave her to her task,” he said.

“Will the baby stop making Mother sick soon?” Arya asked, and Ned looked down to see her grey eyes looking up at him with concern. All of the children had been present when their mother had gotten sick coming back from the Great Hall, and it had frightened them.

“Maester Luwin says so,” he assured her. “This occurs sometimes when a woman is first with child. It will pass, and your mother will be fine.” He repeated the maester’s words precisely, but as he looked at his daughters, he realized they looked no more reassured than he had been.

“Mother’s never sick,” Sansa said quietly.

“Babies are stupid,” Arya put in.

“I’m not a baby!” Bran shouted. “And I’m not stupid!”

“I’m not talking about you, Bran!” Arya huffed, and Ned did laugh then. She not infrequently was guilty of calling her little brother both stupid and a baby, so Bran’s confusion was understandable.

“It isn’t nice to call anyone stupid, Arya,” he reprimanded his daughter gently. “I know your mother has told you that upon more than one occasion.

“And it isn’t nice to try to hide and steal other people’s things,” Sansa said primly.

“I wasn’t trying to hide it!” Arya shouted once more. “I only . . .” She stopped speaking abruptly and looked sullen, and Ned found himself curious.

“What were you doing with the doll, Arya?” he asked her.

Arya pressed her lips together tightly, and then looked at her sister. “I’m sorry I took your doll, Sansa,” she said with a complete lack of any contrition in her voice. Then she looked up at Ned. “There. I apologized, Father.”

As she’d apologized without any prompting really, Ned suspected she did not wish to answer questions about why she had taken the doll in the first place, but before he could ask her anything else, Bran interrupted. “I want a story, Father! You said I could have a story.”

Ned sighed. “It would seem Old Nan is busy, my son, and . . .”

“You tell us a story, Father!” Sansa exclaimed suddenly with a wide smile. “Oh, please! You haven’t told us a story in a long time!”

“Yes!” Arya said quickly. “Please do!”

He looked down at the three faces and sighed. He rather liked the sight of his two daughters standing close together, their squabble seemingly forgotten as they actually agreed upon something, and Bran’s hopeful expression made him smile. “All right,” he said. “But let’s not stand here in the corridor.”

He led the little group back into the nursery where he sat in a chair and they all seated themselves eagerly on the floor before him. Not even Sansa seemed concerned about potentially getting dirt on her dress which was quite unusual for his seven year old daughter.

“What kind of story would you like?” he asked them.

“A true one!” Sansa said.

“But not one of Old Nan’s,” Arya said. “We’ve heard all those. Tell us a new story!”

“A story? Father’s telling stories?”

Ned looked toward the door then to see his oldest son standing there with his brother Jon just behind him. He was about to comment upon the unusual quiet of the boys’ approach when he took in Robb’s full appearance. The boy was covered in wet mud from the waist down. Likely, that explained why he and his brother appeared to be sneaking back toward their rooms.

“What on earth happened to you?” Ned asked.

Robb flushed. “We were fighting. Not really fighting. Just playing. With our swords. You know.”

Jon held up his wooden blade in illustration, and Ned nodded.

“Go on, Robb.”

“Well, Jon made a really good move, and I tripped when I tried to get out of the way.” He looked sheepish. “And I fell. In the mud.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Jon said gravely.

“It wasn’t his fault!” Robb said quickly. “I’m the one who fell. He won fair and square.” He looked down at his breeches and then back at Ned. “Please don’t tell Mother.”

Ned sighed. At ten years of age, Robb long ago realized that his mother was prone to find fault with anything Jon did, and had fallen into the habit of shielding his brother from his mother’s ire. While Ned thanked the gods for the closeness between the boys and was proud of Robb’s protective instincts, he cursed himself for making them necessary.

“Go and change your breeches, Robb. Your mother is in bed feeling poorly. I see no reason to disturb her for a bit of mud.”

“Father is going to tell us a true story,” Sansa told her older brothers. “One we haven’t heard before.”

Robb’s and Jon’s eyes both got bigger at that. For all that they liked to play at being men grown, they had not outgrown a love for stories. 

“Will you tell us about how you killed the Sword of the Morning, Father?” Robb asked eagerly.

Ned grimaced, silently cursing the men of the castle who’d allowed his sons to hear anything of the events at the Tower of Joy. “Battles and killing are less exciting and more dreadful than you might think, Robb,” he said softly. “And I was no hero there. Had it not been for Howland Reed, I’d have been a dead man.”

Robb frowned at him doubtfully, but said nothing else about it.

“Tell us of a beautiful lady, Father!” Sansa begged.

“No, tell us about a brave knight who had to fight a villain!” Arya said.

Ned laughed. “How about I tell you about a brave man who had to fight for a beautiful lady?” he asked them. 

Sounds of general agreement met him, and he looked up at Robb. “Go and change your breeches, son. If you go quickly, you will not miss much.”

Robb bolted from the room, and Ned began his tale, thinking carefully on how to tell it for his children.

“There was once a beautiful maiden,” he started.

“What did she look like?” Sansa asked.

“She looked rather like you, sweetling,” he answered, and Arya huffed. 

“I wanted a true story. Not some dumb story made up for Sansa.”

“It is a true story,” Ned assured her. “It isn’t my fault that the fair lady in this story happened to have auburn hair and blue eyes.”

Arya frowned, but said no more.

“This beautiful maiden was promised to a very brave young lord,” Ned continued.  
“What did he look like?” Sansa demanded.

Arya huffed impatiently, but Ned laughed. “Actually, Arya,” he said, looking at his younger daughter, “The young man’s hair and eyes were the same color as yours, just as the lady’s were the color of your sister’s.”

“So he looked like you then,” Arya said.

“Oh, no,” Ned protested with a smile. “His coloring may have been similar, but he was far more handsome. And when he saw the maiden who had been promised to him, he knew he was the luckiest man alive, for surely no one had ever been promised a more beautiful bride.”

Sansa actually sighed which caused both Jon and Arya to give identical eye rolls, and Ned hid his own smile. “Now their homes were very far apart, but the young man visited his lady as often as he could, courting her and getting to know her. And he was gratified to learn that not only was she beautiful, but she was good and kind and very, very smart. She would make an excellent wife indeed.”

“Did I miss anything good?” Robb said breathlessly as he ran back into the room in a fresh pair of breeches, still not entirely laced up.

“No,” Arya said sourly. “This is a Sansa story.”

“Oh, be quiet, Arya, and let Father go on,” Sansa snapped.

“But the young man also learned that he wasn’t the only one smitten by his lady’s charms. Any man who saw her was charmed, of course, and one man in particular decided that she should be his.”

“Oh, no!” said Sansa. “What did the handsome lord do?”

Ned chuckled. “He did nothing at first. You see, this other man was a ward in the young maiden’s household.”

“Like Theon?” Robb asked.

“Like Theon,” Ned replied.

“I hope he gets what’s coming to him,” Jon muttered, and Ned wasn’t certain if the boy meant the ward in the story or Greyjoy. He did know Greyjoy was not particularly kind to Jon.

“As long as this man didn’t do anything to insult his honor or offend his lady, the young lord simply ignored him. He was a small, petty man, you see, and not worth the young lord’s notice.” In fact, the ward in question had been little more than an arrogant boy, but Ned had to make him a bit more menacing than he had been in fact if the story were to meet with the children’s approval.

“But one day,” he continued, “This man decided to claim the maiden as his own, and he challenged the young lord to a duel for her hand.”

Sansa actually gasped, and Arya said, “Finally! They’re going to fight!” Robb and Jon leaned forward eagerly, and Bran’s eyes got even larger.

Ned had actually heard two versions of this duel over the course of his life, and while he tended to believe the brief account he’d had from his wife was the more accurate, the oft repeated version his brother had given to any number of people was far more exciting, and thus was the tale he spun for his children, complete with fancy footwork, slashing swords, and a great deal of jumping and dodging before the brave young lord disarmed his opponent and had him flat on his back.

Five faces looked up at him in rapt attention when he paused there. “Did he kill the man, Father?” Robb asked breathlessly.

“No,” Ned said. “You recall I told you the beautiful maiden was also good and kind. She had given her brave lord her favor to wear during the contest, but now she begged him to show mercy upon his foolish opponent and spare his life, for her tender heart could not bear to see a man raised alongside her and her siblings killed before her eyes.”

“And he spared him because he loved her?” Sansa sighed.

“Indeed,” Ned said. “But he did give him a slash that left a scar that he might remember to give due respect to both him and his betrothed lady.”

“And then they got married and lived happily ever after,” Sansa finished.

“Is that how it ended, Father?” Arya asked. “Did they just get married? Or did he have to fight more people first? You said he was brave, so did he go after any other bad men?”

Ned sighed heavily. “He was brave, Arya. Brave and reckless, I’m afraid. And yes, he stood up to evil men after that, and in the end it cost him his life.”

“He was killed?” Robb protested. “But, he was good and brave! You said so.”

Ned looked at his firstborn son, the boy who would one day be lord here. “Good and brave men die as easily as evil and craven ones, Robb. All men must die in the end. It is what we choose to do while we live that matters.”

“But he married the beautiful maiden first, didn’t he?” Sansa said insistently. “Did they have brave sons and beautiful daughters?”

“I am afraid not, Sansa. The brave young lord was killed before he got to wed his lady.”

“But that’s a terrible story!” Sansa protested. “They loved each other, and he fought for her, but then he’s dead and she never gets to be married? It’s so sad, Father!”

“It is a sad tale, but I’ve heard you listen to many a sad or even terrifying tale from Old Nan without protest,” Ned told her. “And it is good to remember the brave men whose tales have sad endings as well as those whose tales end in triumph.”

“And the fight was good,” Arya said. “Did the maiden ever get married to anybody?”

“She did,” Ned said.

“And did he fight duels for her, too?”

Ned shook his head. “No. He did his best to keep her safe and happy, though. And she did get to have those brave sons and beautiful daughters Sansa wished for her.”

“Well that’s good, at least,” Sansa said. “But I bet she never forgot the brave, handsome man who fought for her.”

“No, I don’t imagine she did,” Ned answered very quietly.

“I wonder if her babies made her get sick,” Arya said then, jerking Ned back from his contemplation of things best not pondered too deeply.

“What?” he asked his younger daughter.

“The lady in the story. You said she had sons and daughters. That means she had babes in her belly and I just wondered if they made her sick like this babe in Mother’s belly is doing to her.” She frowned. “I don’t want any babes.”

“Of course you do, Arya!” Sansa said incredulously.

“I don’t want to get sick!” Arya argued. “I hate being sick.”

Bored now that the story had ended, Bran had gotten up to wander toward the door, and Ned caught sight of him just as he started into the corridor. “Not so fast, young man!” he called. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I want Mother,” the little boy said, sticking his lip out stubbornly, and Ned sighed.

“I’d like to see Mother, too,” Sansa said. “May I take Bran to her room and see if she’s awake, Father? I promise we won’t disturb her if she’s sleeping, and we won’t stay long even if she is awake.”

Ned frowned. “Will you stay right with your sister and do as she says?” he asked his youngest son.

The little boy nodded solemnly. 

“And no jumping up on your mother’s bed?”

Bran frowned at that, but nodded once more.

“All right,” he told them, “But only you two, and only for a moment.” He looked toward Robb and Arya then, holding up his hands to ward off the inevitable protests. “It is nearly time for the midday meal. After we’ve eaten, the two of you may go see your mother briefly if you like. She doesn’t need all of you jumping around in her rooms at once.”

“I am getting hungry,” Robb said. “Come on, Jon. Let’s go see if there’s food out yet.”

“All right,” Jon said. Then he looked at Ned. “Thank you for the story, Father.”

Ned smiled at him. “You are welcome, son.”

He received a smile in return, and it gladdened his heart. Jon didn’t smile as easily as the other children, and while it could be only from the boy’s serious nature, so like his own, Ned worried that it had as much to do with his place in the family--always with his siblings, but forever slightly apart. He could never change that for Jon, but wished to give him all the happiness he could.

Sansa kissed his cheek as the older boys went out and then Bran jumped into his lap for a hug as well before allowing his sister to take him by the hand and lead him away toward their mother’s chambers.

Arya still sat on the floor, and he leaned down toward her. “You are awfully quiet, Arya. What are you thinking about?”

She looked up at him briefly, and he noted the slightest flush in her cheeks. Her looks were entirely Stark, like his and Jon’s, but unlike them, she did have the ability to blush--a gift from her mother. Her face never turned the crimson of her siblings’ but he found the rare, faint pink in her cheeks when she was truly embarrassed quite lovely.

“What troubles you, sweetling?” he asked her, pulling her up to sit on his lap.

“Does the baby make Mother’s tummy sick up her food because it takes up all the room?” she asked seriously. “Because Jon said the baby will get a lot bigger before it’s born, and if that’s true, how will Mother ever be able to eat?”

Her concern was genuine, and Ned carefully kept his face free of any amusement as he responded. “That is not it at all, Arya,” he assured her. “A baby grows within its mother’s womb. Not in her stomach. Your mother will be able to eat just fine as the baby grows.” He did smile then. “In fact, if my memory serves, she will eat even more well than her usual as the baby grows.”

Arya looked thoughtful. “What’s a womb?”

Ned felt vaguely uncomfortable at the question. “It is a special place within a woman where a babe can grow,” he told her.

“Do I have one?”

“Yes. All women do.”

“I’m not a woman. I’m a little girl.”

He smiled at her. “But you will be a woman one day.”

She bit her lip. “How does the baby get in there? Into the womb I mean? Can you keep it from happening if you want?”

Now, Ned felt distinctly uncomfortable for this was not a conversation he wished to have with his five year old daughter. “Why do ask these questions, Arya?” he said after several deep breaths.

“Because I don’t want any babies inside me making me sick. You said I have a womb. Does that mean a baby can just get inside me?”

She looked almost frightened, and he ran a hand over her invariably tangled hair. “No, sweetling. Only a woman grown can get with child. Never a little girl. And it does require a husband as well.” _Or at least a man,_ he thought somewhat guiltily, knowing that someday Arya would understand what it meant that her brother Jon was a bastard.

“That’s good,” Arya said, looking relieved. “I don’t think I’d like to feel a baby in my belly.”

A thought struck him then. “Arya,” he said. “Is that what you were doing with your sister’s doll? She said you put it in your dress. Were you trying to see what carrying a child feels like?”

The pink color came back into her cheeks. “Don’t tell Sansa. She’ll call me stupid.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “But I think perhaps you should go and see your mother without Robb this afternoon and ask her any questions you have. She has now had five babes within her womb, and she tells me it’s quite a remarkable experience. She certainly wouldn’t want you worrying for her.”

“I don’t like her sick,” Arya mumbled.

“I don’t either, sweetling, but I promise you she will feel better very soon.”

Arya nodded. 

“Shall we follow your brothers to the Great Hall then, and see if we can find something to eat?” he asked her.

She nodded and jumped off his lap. Smiling, he followed his daughter from the nursery.

Tasks he’d neglected through the morning kept him occupied the entire rest of the day, and he took his evening meal in his solar bent over ledgers and reports. When he finally made his way to Catelyn’s chambers to bid her good night, he was pleased to find her sitting up in bed, good color in her cheeks.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said with a smile.

“You are feeling better, my lady?”

“I am. I wanted to come to the Great Hall to dine this evening, but Maester Luwin reminded me I’d given you my word. I’m not staying in bed again tomorrow, Ned.”

He smiled back at her. “Did you eat anything, my love?”

“A little. I actually felt hungry, but I didn’t want to try my luck so I kept to a small amount.”

“And you kept it in?”

“I did. We shall see what the morning brings. Old Nan brought me a tea of some sort which actually does seem to have settled my stomach a bit. I confess I was worried that I seem so much sicker than with any of the other babes, but she told me it wasn’t unusual for it to happen that way, and I shouldn’t worry.” She smiled at him. “Our babe will be fine, Ned. I know he will.”

“I have no doubt of it, my lady. For his mother is a remarkable woman.” He bent to kiss her forehead. “Did the children all visit?”

She smiled more broadly. “Yes. Arya had some interesting questions. She said she’d already asked you some of them.” He couldn’t imagine what his face looked like at that, but she laughed loudly at it. 

“Did you allay her concerns?” he asked when she finally stopped laughing.

“I believe so. She is only five, my love. Simple answers sufficed quite well.”

“Ah. Well, I do not wish to keep you from your rest, my lady. I simply wanted to be certain you were well. And I knew I would not sleep if I did not see you.”

She reached for him. “Will you not sleep beside me then?”

“I do not want to disturb you, Cat. I want you to sleep and feel rested and strong on the morrow.”

“I sleep better with you beside me, Ned.”

She spoke the words easily, and he saw the truth of them in her eyes. He smiled at her. “I would stay beside you always if I could.”

When he had undressed and lay down beside her, she curled against him with a sigh. “Sansa told me of the story you told the children today, my lord,” she said lightly.

“She did, did she?”

“She did. She told me she liked it, but that she was sad for the lady in your tale.”

“Ah,” Ned said, swallowing hard and not knowing what to say to that. Sansa had a fine memory for stories, and had no doubt recounted it in great detail. There was little doubt his wife recognized herself, Brandon, and Littlefinger as the principal characters.

She put a hand on his cheek. “I told her she shouldn’t be sad because you hadn’t actually told her the end of the story.”

Ned lay beside her, breathing in the scent of her hair as he waited for her to continue.

“I told her that I knew that story well, and the man who married the lady was brave and honorable and kind and good, and that he gave to her all the love any woman could want.”

Ned felt his heart skip a beat, and he pulled his arms more tightly around her.

“As for their children, I told her they were the most wonderful and beloved children ever born.” She kissed him softly. “She asked if there were stories told of their children as well, and I told her I had no doubt that there would be.”

She turned within his arms then, pressing her back against him and moving his hand to rest over her their newest child, still undetectable beneath his touch.

“Good night, my love,” she said sleepily, and he could hear the smile in her voice.  
He kissed the back of her neck. 

“Sleep, my love,” he whispered through the lump in his throat, “and I will hold you safe beside me.”

“I know you will,” she whispered back, and Ned Stark fell asleep beside his wife and unborn child thinking that whatever troubles the gods had seen fit to rain upon the Starks of Winterfell, they had granted him more blessings than he possibly deserved.  
　  
　  
　  
　  
　  
　


End file.
